initiation did it imply, that, with some doubts as to my delicacy, I
put the case anew to my village oracle, Harmon Gow; but got for my
pains only an uncomprehending grunt.

"Ruth Varnum was always as nervous as a rat; and, come to think of
it, she was the first one to see 'em after they was picked up. It
happened right below lawyer Varnum's, down at the bend of the
Corbury road, just round about the time that Ruth got engaged to Ned
Hale. The young folks was all friends, and I guess she just can't
bear to talk about it. She's had troubles enough of her own."

All the dwellers in Starkfield, as in more notable communities, had
had troubles enough of their own to make them comparatively
indifferent to those of their neighbours; and though all conceded
that Ethan Frome's had been beyond the common measure, no one gave
me an explanation of the look in his face which, as I persisted in
thinking, neither poverty nor physical suffering could have put
there. Nevertheless, I might have contented myself with the story
pieced together from these hints had it not been for the provocation
of Mrs. Hale's silence, and-a little later-for the accident of
personal contact with the man.

On my arrival at Starkfield, Denis Eady, the rich Irish grocer, who
was the proprietor of Starkfield's nearest approach to a livery
stable, had entered into an agreement to send me over daily to
Corbury Flats, where I had to pick up my train for the Junction. But
about the middle of the winter Eady's horses fell ill of a local
epidemic. The illness spread to the other Starkfield stables and for
a day or two I was put to it to find a means of transport. Then
Harmon Gow suggested that Ethan Frome's bay was still on his legs